Oubliette
by Alina-Cantha
Summary: The Yondaime Hokage and the love of his life, a fairy tale at its best, or as close as it can be. Yondaime centric.
1. Once Upon A Time

_**Oubliette**_

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Naruto, nor any of the characters. Masashi Kishimoto does, not me.**

_Chapter 1: Once Upon A Time_

He never planned to fall in love, although nobody truly does. But he did, and it's done, and it played out like a fairy tale, complete with a knight on a white horse, a beautiful princess, and their absolutely perfect child. Except the white horse was actually a toad, and the princess was just a flower-seller, and the baby truly didn't seem like a baby at all.

You see, life is never like the fairy tales, no matter how hard it tries. And so in this story, the brave knight dies, and the flower-princess too, and nobody really gets the happy ending that they always wanted deep down inside, even if they didn't want to admit it.

And so this is the story of the golden-haired knight and the love of his life, the story of the talking toad and a tiny, perfect, blue-eyed baby. And this is the story of the end, even if you pretend that you never really wanted to know.

He has always been proud of Konoha and its people, has always been proud to call them _his _people. Often, he walks through the streets, just watching as they go about their business. His smile is as bright as the sun above as he watches children playing, farmers haggling over their prices, women bustling along, chattering in groups. Konohagakure is absolutely alive, and it makes his heart swell as he pushes through the crowds and jostles back and forth, swept along in the sea of people. Finding his way to the edge of the crowd, he leans against a sun-warmed brick wall and simply relaxes as the market day continues unabated. A few children weave in and out, dancing through the legs of the adults, giggling and squealing. A deep, booming voice calls out, loudly boasting fresh ripe fruit.

He is near overwhelmed with happiness and pride, feeling as if his heart might burst, as he steps back into the crowd. A mother carrying a baby on her hip, a beleaguered-looking man with a basket in one hand and a shopping list in the other. They are his charges, his children – although many of them are older than he is. He laughs, a sound full of joy and brightness, and that too is swallowed up into the sound of people. The day is absolutely perfect.

Still walking, he has a bright sparkle in his eyes as he passes the grocery, the newspaper, a flower shop; outside the last, a woman sits on the stoop, watching the people pass by. Long brown hair hangs down over her face, and her chin is propped up in her hands. He watches her for a long moment, wondering at this tiny island of quiet. And it's like a little moment frozen in time as he stands, resplendent in his white jacket with its crimson flames, and she sits, as quiet and ordinary as a little brown sparrow, both of them watching the other and imagining that the other doesn't notice.

The spell breaks as he steps forward and sits down next to her, leaning over a bit to get a look at her face. "Is something wrong?" he asks softly, that smile, that unstoppable smile, still curling across his lips. Soft green eyes stare back at him for a few seconds before her face, too, breaks into a smile. It was unavoidable, and they both knew it. And at last, it was just like the fairy tales that people dream of in the backs of their minds. It was love at first sight, but neither will say it until later – much, much later.

After a long moment, she looks away, back down at the ground again. "No," she murmurs through the curtain of hair hiding her face. His smile fades for a moment as he studies her. At last, he stands up and strides into the flower shop, the little bell on the door jangling as it swings back and forth. Puzzled, she gets up as well, entering close behind him. She watches as he makes his way around the shop, surveying the flowers available, one hand on his chin, as if thinking over a big decision.

Finally, he selects a single, brilliant purple flower, turns on his heel, and makes a sweeping bow in her direction. She smiles a bit, caught in the amazing amount of charm this single man can generate. And then he steps forward, sweeping her hair back from her face and tucking the single bloom behind her ear.

"You're very pretty when you don't hide your face," he states simply, hand still lingering by her face. She is surprised when he blushes, realizing that, and he quickly pulls his hand back, grin sheepish and cheeks pink.

He smiles once more – and although he never really stops smiling, it only seems to be brighter every time it catches her eye – and walks out the door.

"That will be a dollar twenty-five," she calls out clearly, face straight, but a smile hiding in her eyes.

"What?" he asks, turning back from the door with a puzzled look on his face.

"For the flower," she explains matter-of-factly. And the look on his face is just so endearing – she can't help it. She giggles, and soon he does too. Still laughing, he reaches for his wallet, and she shakes her head.

"I was just kidding," she assures him, brushing her hand against his wrist.

"Oh," he says lamely, cheeks flushing again. He meets her eyes, and she is just so _beautiful_ with her long brown hair, and that flower bringing out the deep green color of her eyes. Her clothes are plain, with a worn and slightly stained yellow apron tied over them, but it doesn't matter.

Then he realizes he's staring, and his ears grow hot as well, not knowing she was looking at him too – brilliant blonde hair and a blazing smile to go along with it, cornflower-blue eyes still dancing, regardless of the situation.

He breaks his gaze, heading for the door again. "I'll see you later," he says, giving her another one of those unbelievable smiles. With even noticing, she smiles back.

And so you see, it's _almost _like a fairy tale. You know what they're like. Except the prince has ears that flush red when he's embarrassed, and the princess would just look out of place in a fancy dress, but looks absolutely perfect in a dirty yellow apron.

That, and that fairy tales always have happy endings.

-_Yeah, I think Yondaime was Naruto's father. I apologize for the rather trippy writing style - all grammatical errors (or most of them) are on purpose. Any other comments, feel free! _


	2. A Love, At The Beginning

_Oubliette_

A Love, At The Beginning

**Disclaimer**: Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto, not me, and I get nothing but the warm fuzzies for the writing of this. Much of this story is pure speculation on my part.

* * *

In the stories, the prince and princess never dated, and they never go through that awkward phase where they don't quite know what to say to each other. The first kiss is accompanied by swelling romantic music, roses, and fireworks. But things are simply more fun when they're unusual.

* * *

It isn't that noticeable in the beginning, but as time goes by, he spends more and more of his time walking down that street, peeking, ever so shyly, in the flower shop window. Usually, she'll be busy with a customer, and he looks away quickly and continues walking. After a few paces, he stops, and ever so nonchalantly turns around, glancing furtively around to see if anyone is watching. And then, casually, he strolls back in the other direction, glancing out of the corner of his eye into the shop. Every so often, she'll catch him as he goes by, and she'll stifle giggles, hiding her smile behind a cupped palm. One time, their eyes manage to meet. He quickly looks away, flushing a brilliant red, while she actually has to duck beneath the counter for a moment so that her laughter can come out.

Even Sarutobi notices his frequent and sometimes lengthy absences, and asks a few innocent questions, when he can catch him before he leaves. Often all the former Hokage will see is the flicker of a white jacket and its red trim disappearing around a corner. He calls out after the Fourth, and is rewarded by his bright blue eyes poking out from around the corner, just a little bit. "Did you need something?" the Fourth asks, voice muffled by the wall between them.

"May I ask where you're going? Again?" Sarutobi asks, a hint of humor in his voice. Lately, it seems that people around here just can't stop smiling – it's infectious, and it is all because of the Fourth.

"Out," the Fourth replies impishly, as he knows exactly how to annoy the older man.

"I can see that," Sarutobi states dryly. "When you get back, I have some reports from Sand Village you should read," he sighs, knowing it's just a waste of time to argue.

"Yessir!" He tosses off a sloppy salute and disappears, while Sarutobi goes back to his papers, a smile on his face.

* * *

Today will be the day, and he knows this with a bold certainty – he has never been so sure of anything else in his life. Boldly, he strides down the street, heading directly for the flower shop. She will be there, he knows it. But this brave man, this courageous hero, finds himself frozen. He has walked easily into hundreds of battles, but now his heart seems to be blocking his throat, and his feet refuse to move. He laughs a bit, low in his throat, amused at his own anxiety. This fearless man now feels like a little boy. And so he stands outside the shop, almost unable to move, watching as she goes about her business, assisting customers and watering plants.

She leans forward, a watering can in her slender hands, and her hair would normally fall forward across her face, but it doesn't. Because there is a fresh, bright purple flower holding it back, tucked behind her ear. Finally, his heart falls back out of his throat, only to melt into a puddle at his feet.

Suddenly, a hand clamps down onto his shoulder, and he turns sharply to meet Yamanaka Inoshi's eyes. "Didn't know you were interested in flowers, Yondaime-sama," the blonde man chuckles.

"I'm not, Inoshi-kun," the Fourth responds slowly.

"What are you so interested in then?" The Yamanaka leans over in front of the Hokage to peer in the window, his long ponytail falling across his shoulders, and then smiles and nods knowingly. He pats the other man on the shoulder. "Good luck, then," he tells his former classmate. "I have to go. Wife needs me home."

The Hokage waves, and then turns back to the window, his face red, embarrassed at being seen in such a delicate moment. But then he sees that little purple flower behind her ear, and his resolve returns from wherever it had run off to.

He opens the door, and she looks up as the bell jingles. A small smile flickers across her lips, but she quickly hides it. "Can I help you?" she asks politely.

Sighing as if troubled, he answers, "I'm looking for some flowers for this very beautiful girl I know…"

"A girlfriend?" she interrupts, coming around from behind the counter and wiping her hands absently on her apron.

"If she'll have me."

"Ah, a secret love?" she inquired, eyes sparkling.

"Of a sort," he says, his own eyes matching hers. "What would you recommend?"

"Well, how much does this girl know about flowers?" she questions, joining into her part in their little skit quite happily.

"Quite a bit, I'd guess," he replies as he follows her across the room to a case full of cut flowers.

"Did you know that flowers have a language of their own?" Her voice is muffled, as she has her back to him while her hands move quickly among the flowers, picking out two blossoms. Turning back to face him, she held out a single red rose. "Roses, for example," she continues. "Red means love, of course, but also respect and courage. White roses-," She holds up the other flower. "Represent charm."

"Different colors mean different things?" he asks dully, unbelieving.

"Mostly," she replies with a soft laugh, turning back around to search for another flower in the case. At last, she finds it and holds it up, taking a few steps toward him. "Jonquil plants," she explains quietly, "represent affection returned." She hands the flower to him, smiling.

He holds it rather awkwardly, in hands that are used to holding kunai than flowers. And then he smiles, and everything falls into place.

"I'm free later tonight," she finally suggests, after a short silence. "As soon as the shop closes."

"I'll be here," he answers, barely able to get the words out because of the thrill still running through his body, head to toe, almost paralyzing.

"I'll see you then. I'd better get back to work," she murmurs as a customer comes in the door.

That afternoon, Sarutobi is amused to see the Hokage doing his paperwork with a flower sitting delicately at the top of his desk.

* * *

That evening, when he meets her outside her shop, she is already there waiting for him. The shop is closed up tight, and she waits patiently on the stoop, hands clasped loosely in front of her. She absolutely glows in the fading sunlight, the light making her eyes shine and her smile all the brighter. Since he last saw her, she apparently had time to change, as her dirty yellow apron and sensible clothes have been replaced with a brilliant crimson dress that conforms to her every curve and flares out whenever she takes a step.

His own smile widens as he approaches her, and he gives her his most chivalrous bow before offering her his arm. "How are you this evening?" he asks.

"Well, I've had a long day, but I'm doing much better now," she answers with a smile of her own. "What do you have in store for tonight, hmm?"

"I did what I could on short notice. Sorry I couldn't dress up a bit," he apologizes, brushing his hand over his battered vest.

"That's just fine."

* * *

"You have connections, I assume?"

"Well, of course," he deadpans. "How else could we get seats at the famous Ichiraku Ramen?"

"I think you mean infamous."

"Hush up and eat your ramen."

"Well then, you sure know how to show a girl a good time," she laughs, scooping up a bite of miso ramen.

"You act like you're not having fun," he groans, looking mournfully in her direction.

"And you're acting like a kicked puppy," she replies shortly, reaching across to snitch some of his ramen with her chopsticks.

"Hey!" Counterattacking, he grabs some of hers and shoves it into his mouth, making his cheeks bulge with noodles. She responds in kind, until soon both of them are trying desperately not to laugh, in order to avoid getting noodles up their noses. Slowly, he chokes them down, and turns back to her sheepishly. However, he only bursts out laughing again as she looks at him balefully, and bit by bit, swallows her own down and burps.

"Excuse me," she murmurs, although it can barely be heard.

"You're not as ladylike as you seem," he comments.

"I try."

"Oi! More ramen here!"

* * *

Later, when he walks her home, they hold hands. It is a natural fit, his scarred and callused hand into her slender palm. They both have small cuts all over their hands, though hers are from garden clippers and roses, while his are from kunai and summoning. But it fits, and so they walk hand-in-hand along the dimly lit evening streets.

They arrive at her door, and neither one of them wants to let go just yet. So they sit on the stoop next to each other, watching the stars. Although a sharp contrast from their earlier laughter, the silence now is comfortable.

She is different – he is sure of it. Completely ignoring his high status, as he often does himself, she absolutely comes alive when just a little time is spent with her. She is beautiful, and he can barely believe it.

After a few minutes, she reluctantly stands. "I'm sorry," she murmurs as he stands as well. "I've got work tomorrow."

"Me too, he answers, slightly sadly. "I'll be gone for a few days. A mission."

She glances down at the ground for a second, and then bounces up on tiptoe suddenly to place a soft kiss on his cheek.

"For luck," she explains simply.

There is a little pause, and then that silly grin spreads across his face, the one that reminds her of a little boy.

"I dunno if that'll be enough luck," he responds finally, still grinning.

She smiles and leans in, and he bends to meet her, and suddenly, everything seems to snap into place. Their lips meet, and it's almost like fireworks are going off. A burden is lifted off him that he never knew he was carrying, and it's like putting on a pair of glasses, and until then, never realizing just how blind you were.

When they part, he finds his hands are shaking, and he is weak in the knees. This strong man, Hokage, almost brought low by just a kiss.

She is the first to speak, saying a soft, anticlimactic, "Good night." One more time, she kisses his cheek, then unlocks the door and slips inside.

He remains standing on the stoop, totally stunned. Then, he clenches his shaking hands at his sides and walks home, with that big little boy grin still spread across his face.

_((Chapter 2 is done, and Chapter 3 is coming soon. Seriously. It's actually done already. I've been told this has a slightly different feel from the first chapter, but I think it's because this one actually moves forward, and has dramatic music plot. Also, I apologize if you are seeing this on livejournal... I can't figure out how to get it to indent for paragraphs... ))_


	3. Sunlight When You Smile

_Oubliette_

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Naruto, nor any of the characters. Masashi Kishimoto does, not me.**

_Chapter 3: Sunlight When You Smile_

In the stories, the princess always waits at home, dreaming of her prince's conquests and great victories. She never worries that one day, he won't come home – that he'll be lying, alone, bleeding, with nothing and no one to save him. The princess never has to lie awake at night, hands clasped tight and eyes clamped shut, praying that she'll get to see him one more time. And they are finally ready to get married, the prince proposes with chivalry and pomp, a flashy presentation at a fancy restaurant, all the cliques that you've ever heard of – he doesn't wear a faded white apron, and it doesn't happen in her princess's kitchen. But magic is found where you look for it.

* * *

Every morning now, when he arrives at the offices, he gets his mission assignments, as is his habit. Though normally he stays in the village, every time he has to leave, the mission assignment is handed to him along with two single azaleas. Her work, he knows. Every time, they are a different color, it seems. A delicate red and a deep yellow, or a light blue and a dark crimson. Any variety. The first time, they come with a note – "Azaleas – Take care of yourself for me." And after that, he knows.

One morning, Kakashi is there as he takes his missions, and is there to see the little smile on his sensei's face. It only confuses the young jounin, only thirteen, who knows next to nothing about girls yet, and doesn't have time for them anyways. He has learned a bit from Rin, but she's not exactly a "real" girl in his mind.

Sensei sees the scowl on Kakashi's masked face, smiles, and heads out, tousling the boy's silvery hair as he walks by. Kakashi only scowls harder and goes to pick up his own mission assignments.

* * *

The other nin say nothing when Yondaime begins appearing on missions with flowers tucked into his kunai holster. They notice – it's what ninja are trained to do – but they make no comment. He's always been a little strange anyways.

During the short breaks they have – there is a war going on, after all – they rest, trying to catch their breath, sipping water. Yondaime naps, and it is a poignant image – their Hokage lying against a tree, slumped down and snoring slightly, those silly flowers resting on his chest, just above his heart, held loosely in one hand.

And then the break is over, and they're off and moving.

* * *

Days go by like this, mission after mission. A Hokage is busy, and he knows it, but it seems all the busier now that there's something else out there besides shinobi, battles, and war. In his apartment, the mess begins to stack up – he's just not home enough to keep it clean. But on the table, like a little shrine, is a pile of azaleas. Some are long ago shriveled and brown, while a few are still bright and colorful. It will only be a few days before those, too, die off – but new ones will be there to replace them. That's just the way it goes.

"I thought you'd forgotten about me," she says lightly when he finally comes through her door again. Every time the little bell jangles on the door, her head shoots up, hoping to see that white jacket, that bright smile. She's been rehearsing what to say for what seems like months, but that all goes out the window when she finally (finally!) sees him come back.

He drags a hand through his hair, and then rubs the back of his head sheepishly. "How could I?" he asks. "I always had the flowers."

* * *

They spend more and more time together, and there's just as much magic in the second, third, fourth, fifth, hundredth kiss, as in the first. She sends flowers with him on every mission, and eventually, every time he comes back, he brings a letter.

He spends his spare moments on missions now not napping, but writing, scrawling on the plain paper with a tiny smile on his face. His teammates just figure he's releasing stress – everybody does it in their own way, and they know better than to question it. And after all, he was one of Jiraiya's students once.

* * *

So the letters pile up, just as the flowers do, one by one by one. But things change, as they always do.

Under med-nin's orders, he finds himself going home, bandaged and bruised, his head throbbing. He'd gotten used to breezing through missions lately, and this one had proved him wrong.

But instead of going home, he ends up at her door. He knocks, and she answers, she is not at all surprised to see him. He smiles weakly and hands her his latest letter. But she sets it aside – it can wait until later – and pulls him inside, sitting him down at her kitchen table.

Blearily, he watches as she goes about making them each a cup of tea. Finally, she helps him limp out to the couch, and they sit down, him half-laying in her lap, her with her arms wrapped around him.

Her hands cradle him gently, one tucked around him, and one caressing his head, fingers moving softly through his blonde hair. He never realizes that the one hand is holding him as tight as she can, while the other is simply making sure that he's all there – that he's just as she remembers him. It is just so comfortable, and he is so tired… and so he sleeps, head pillowed on her chest, his face clear and innocent as he dreams away the time. She takes his still-bloody hands in hers, and watches the steam rise from his forgotten tea where it rests on the table. She sits and watches, wondering why she so desperately wants to cry.

* * *

When he wakes, the sun is just rising, and weak light is dripping in through the thin curtains. His stiff body doesn't quite want to move yet, and so he gazes around the room, taking in everything he can. A battered coffee table, a small television with a bundle of dried flowers on top of it, a dark-colored braided rug on the hardwood floor, and her.

She is curled up in an armchair, turned from its usual position to face the couch. Her knees are tucked up by her chest, and her cheek is resting softly against the back of the chair. The blue blanket she has draped over her moves gently as she breathes – in, out. In, out.

He times his breathing to match hers, the soft, quiet sound the only noise in the pre-day calm. An infinity passes, and then ends with a soft knock at the door.

Blinking wonder out of his eyes, the Fourth heaves himself up off the couch, sucking in a breath through his teeth as his wounds stretch and his overused muscles scream indignantly. Slowly, hunched over like an old man because of the deep wound across his abdomen, he makes his way to the door.

His battered hands finally reach the doorknob, and it opens to reveal Rin, with an armful of bandages, a frown on her face, and a bundle of flowers clutched in one fist.

By way of greeting, she snaps, "Sensei! What are you doing up? You're supposed to be resting!" He smiles sheepishly, and lets her march him out to the kitchen – the kunoichi is one of the most forceful people he knows, when she is in her element.

"How are your injuries today?" she asks, digging through the cabinets for a bowl and then a vase for her flowers, and then filling them both with water.

"Fine, Rin-chan," he answers. "But be quiet. She's sleeping." He cocks his head out towards the sleeping woman. Rin frowns for a moment, giving the other woman a cursory glance, and then continues her work uninterrupted, ripping open a tiny packet and dumping it into the water, turning it a light green and filling the room with a light antiseptic smell.

"Sarutobi-sama told me you would be here," she comments, deftly stripping him of his shirt and old bandages. "He also told me that you've been put on sick leave for a week, and he also says that you are not to come back to the offices until that week is over. And he means it," she continues sternly. Hissing softly at the stitches zigzagging across his chest and the oozing open wound low on his hip and abdomen, she goes quietly about her work, cleaning and inspecting his injuries with a trained med-nin's eyes.

He sits in silence, jaw clenched tight to avoid letting out grunts of pain as the antiseptic in the wash sears through him. A long moment passes before her gentle hands finally stop moving, and she says, "Done."

At last, he takes a breath, feeling lines of fire still blazing up and down his skin. He smiles at her as she turns back to him, bandages in her hands now. He stands, supporting his weight on the back of the chair, in order to make it easier for her to re-bandage him.

"What do you think, Rin-chan?" he asks, his deeper voice sounding in heavy contrast to her soft murmurs.

"About what?" she asks, thin hands wrapping roll after roll of cotton around his chest. He says nothing, simply waiting her out. Finally, she sighs in frustration, and her deft hands stop moving for a moment. She chews her lower lip for a moment, staring pointedly at a spot directly between his shoulder blades.

"I'm glad to see you're happy," she states slowly. "We haven't really been the same since Iwagakure. Not Kakashi, not you, not me." Her voice trails off towards the end, and she watches as he simply nods in response. "But if you can be happy, then maybe… I can try too."

"I'm thinking…" he starts, and then he pauses, smiling. He stares down at his hands for a moment, and then he rumbles, "I'm thinking of marrying her."

"You fit well together."

And then they can think of no more words, so they don't even try. She finishes her work silently, and she wonders to herself why it feels so much like a betrayal. Maybe it is that he is moving on, and yet she, and Kakashi, are both stuck in the past. But she is too young – she doesn't know yet that you never truly move on. Once she's finished, she quickly gathers her things, and bows slightly. "Be safe, sensei," she says softly.

"I will, Rin-chan. Thank you," he responds, not turning to watch as she leaves. He's had too many people walk out on him, through death's door, or another, and he prays that this time, he can hold on to at least one. Still silent, he stares at the flowers that Rin had brought him, and quietly, he smiles.

* * *

When she wakes late that morning, the smell of bacon is heavy on the air, laced with the heavy scent of maple syrup. Groggily, she wakes and stretches, a vain attempt to pretend she hadn't spent the night cramped up in a tiny chair with her neck bent all funny. Still stiff and sore, she shuffles out to the kitchen, only to find that he has taken over. Not only that, he's stolen her apron too.

"What _are_ you doing?" she asks, coming up behind him to rest her chin on his shoulder, peeking at the stovetop in front of him. A stack of pancakes rests to the side of the griddle, and he is just finishing with the bacon now. One of his hands has latched onto the counter with an iron grip, white-knuckled, keeping him standing as his body protests all this sudden movement. He simply doesn't have enough energy – all his resources are going to healing his injuries. And yet, his other hand is occupied flipping bacon. He tilts his head against hers fondly for a moment, resting against her.

She laughs, but firmly slides a chair up behind him and sits him down in it by pressing gently down on his shoulder, making his knees fold beneath him. "Here. Sit. Eat," she orders, scooping some of the breakfast he had made onto a plate and slapping it down in front of him. Awake now, she moves about the kitchen, finishing up what he had started. As she slides the curtains up, light floods the room, throwing everything into a golden haze. In the sudden light, the first thing she notices is that his plate is empty. The second is that there is a bundle of flowers in a vase on her table, and that it wasn't there last night.

She fills his plate once more, and grabs one of her own. Sliding into a chair next to him, her eyes are trained on him as he quickly shovels more food into his stomach. After a few moments, she gestures at the vase. "Where'd that come from?" she asks, muffled through a half-bite of food.

"Mmm," he mumbles. He swallows, and gives her one of his brightest smiles, ignoring the now throbbing pain down his chest. "They're for you."

"For me?" she asks, brows drawing in unhappily. "You didn't go and get those, did you?"

He laughs a bit, and shakes his head, his blonde hair drifting across his face. "No," he assures her. "I'm the Hokage, after all. I have my resources." And he winks one of those big blue eyes at her, and she melts.

"Yellow tulips," she comments, brushing a light hand against the delicate petals. "They mean that there is sunlight when you smile." Noticing a sparkle on one of the stems, she pulls the flower delicately from the water. Inspecting it carefully, her heart stops for a moment, thudding to a halt inside her chest. Her fingers remain frozen around the ring that he had slipped onto the thick green stem.

He watches her for a moment, his heart tight with hope. As he reaches across the table to grasp her hand, she finally unfreezes and pulls the ring off the tulip stem, holding it in one trembling hand. Her eyes move to meet his, and she breaks into the most marvelous smile.

"I'd go down on one knee," he told her. "But…you know." He did grasp her hand this time, holding it tightly in his. He is shaking almost as much as she is, but together, the trembling is stilled. "Will you marry me?"

"Of course," she answers immediately, and his heart flies up into his throat and a thrill runs through his entire body. They both lean in and meet again, and their kiss tastes of bacon and sunshine, and it is absolutely perfect.

He is still bruised and bloody, still painful and sore, and she is still worried for him, and still busy with her flowers, but still. Neither of them could be happier.


	4. A Heart Where No One Can See

_Oubliette_

**Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, nor any of the characters. I simply write about them for fun, and to exercise…possibilities.**

**Disclaimer part 2: As you may imagine, this chapter contains…the wedding. It's a sort of amalgam of Western and Eastern styles, and I actually did quite a bit of research on it. I hope I got most of my information right, but I'm certainly not married, and I haven't been to a wedding, Western or otherwise, in ages. Feel free to comment on, question or point out errors in any of this chapter, particularly. **

_Chapter 4_

_A Heart Where No One Can See_

In fairy tales, the prince and princess always get married in the most elaborate of ceremonies – lavish and lush, with people invited from all across the land. Jewels and ornamentation are a necessary requirement, and the proceedings are as opulent as anybody's ever seen. The bride wears pure white, with beads and jewels and embroidery all over, and the groom is immaculately clean, with every hair (at least this once) perfectly in place. At least they get that much right.

* * *

Both Kakashi and Sarutobi are rather amused by the pure amount of sweat that is running down Yondaime's face. He has stood, unshaken, through everything that anyone could ever throw at him. And now here he is, near undone by a simple ceremony. He shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, inspecting himself in the mirror once more. Adjusting his red and white _haori_, he steps to the door to peek out at the crowd, and then paces back to the mirror. 

Kakashi shifts uncomfortably in his formal wear, sitting stiffly on his own chair, back ramrod straight. He has no weapons on him, for a change, and it makes him anxious. His _hitai-ate_ slanted across one eye, his other traces _sensei _across the room and back, across and back, picking up on his anxiety as well. Once the ceremony has started, he has decided, he will take the headband off. Obito, he thinks, would have wanted to watch Sensei find happiness – even if it does mean they're moving on.

Sarutobi has a smile on his face, creasing the wrinkles on his face even more. When Yondaime comes near him again, he rests a weathered, spotted hand on the younger man's shoulder. When he leans in to hear what Sarutobi has to say, he is surprised.

"Be careful," the old man murmurs, his smile momentarily gone. "Love and warfare don't often go well together."

"I know. I don't care."

"How very like you."

* * *

Everybody has been busy – it's not often that a Hokage gets married, after all. Ambassadors from many of the villages are here, decked out in formal dress, with Konoha ninja near fawning over them, in the name of inter-village relationships. 

The wedding is to be held outdoors – for both practical and aesthetic reasons. The trees are full of blossoms – red, white and pink, while chairs are set out in what seems like an endless sea. A thick red carpet lays an aisle down the middle of the area, setting the stage.

She waits in a small tent, sitting quietly, with her hands folded in her lap. One of her sisters sits behind her, fussing gently with her hair, arranging the long brown locks carefully, moving and adjusting them around the ornate _kanzashi_, a delicate flower perched gently on the top of her head.

People are slowly trickling in now, filling the white seats one by one.

"Are you ready?" her sister murmurs softly.

She turns her perfectly made-up face towards her sibling, and smiles, and all the tension drains from her. "Yes," she says simply. Slowly and carefully, she stands, cautious not to disturb any of her full costume.

She is resplendent in her pure white kimono, delicate embroidery completely covering almost every inch of the pale fabric. A plain white head-covering encircles her hair, with the _kanzashi _visible in every single detail. Plain but efficient makeup only accents her jade green eyes.

"You look beautiful."

"Thank you."

* * *

She has trouble meeting his eyes once they both arrive at the front of the crowd – she is embarrassed simply because she cannot stop smiling. But he smiles back, and soon they both are smiling, grins across their faces as wide as they can go. The priest smiles lightly too, and they begin. 

The priest finally calls for vows, and his voice is shaking as he replies. His voice has rung out strongly through fighting and fires, battles and bruises, disorder and deaths. But again, something changes when he is around her, and he still absolutely loses his head, and his tongue gets all tied up, and his cheeks flush that brilliant red.

And as his hands start to shake, she reaches across and takes them in hers. She begins her own vows, and her tongue stumbles in almost the same places, and her face is just as red. But those smiles are still there, and as bright as ever.

The priest brings out a delicate set of three _sake_ cups, each one full and growing in size – one small, one medium and one large. He mutters a short prayer, and hands the smallest of the three to the groom, who raises it to his lips, taking three short sips. He passes it over to her, and nervous fingers almost slip, spilling the remaining _sake _to the floor. She laughs as he looks down at the ground, then back up at her, a sheepish grin on his face. But there's enough left, and she takes her three sips too, giving him a surreptitious wink.

The ritual is continued with the medium cup, and finally the largest, three sips for each from each cup. No more is spilled, and when they are done, he takes her hand in his. Turning, it is the signal for their family members to come forward to take part as well. Her sisters come up, the two of them standing right beside her, and her father as well. Mother is there in spirit, she knows.

There is not much of a family left for him, either.Kakashi and Rin are standing there, as honorary members. And as the only members. Jiraiya hasn't been around ever since Orochimaru left when he became the Fourth, and these two… They're all the family he has left, and they both know it.

The members of both families drink a cup of _sake _as well, and it is finally done, the bond strengthened between bride and groom, and family and family, such as they are. Kakashi stares at the cup bemusedly, his Sharingan spinning lazily, as if Obito is aware. But, he takes his mask down, one of the only times he has ever done so in public, and drinks it down, suppressing a cough at the alcohol that he is not used to. Rin does the same, although her face does flush a light pink. Her family takes it down without problem, and she laughs as her father finishes his cup, and asks the priest, in his most endearing tones, for another.

The families sit down again, and now it is the rings. They are almost exactly the same, though hers is a bit narrower – they both are just plain gold bands, no jewels, no diamonds. Without words, she slips his onto his scarred and tanned finger, concentrating on the simple movement. He does the same to her, sliding the gold band onto her thin finger, and raising her hand to his lips, gently brushing them across her fingers. He glances up at her, and grins. And finally, still holding her hand, he pulls her in for a kiss. There are no fireworks, no explosions of joy and surprise. But there is an understated grace to it, and there is love that fills them fit to burst, and that is all that they can ask for.

* * *

The reception is almost as splendid as the wedding itself. She has changed from her delicately embroidered white wedding kimono into a resplendent crimson one, just as lavishly stitched, with golden cranes and delicate flowers all across it. He is still in his formal attire, although he has abandoned his _haori _jacket for the sake of comfort. Rin quickly wrangles him back into it for all the people who are taking pictures, despite his protests. After pictures, the rest of the afternoon is taken up in diplomacy, as it seems he must personally thank everyone for miles around. But underneath the table, they are still holding hands, rings a faint shine in the sunlight. 

When he is finally done, he leans over and kisses her on the cheek, then stands and pulls her to her feet. She giggles as she trips over her kimono and falls into his arms, and he smiles as he sets her back on her feet and leads her out to the middle of the grassy area they have dubbed as a dance floor.

The small band starts playing, and it is a simple song. If you asked either of them, they would not be able to remember what song it was. But they move as if they were made for each other – and maybe they were. She glides with a grace that seems almost unnatural, and he is right alongside her, and whenever their eyes meet, the pure adoration and joy in their eyes is unmistakable.

Rin watches as they twist and swirl around the grass, and her stomach twists in her stomach even as a smile curls across her face. Kakashi comes up behind her and rests a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and she turns to look at him, his face expressionless behind that cloth mask of his.

"You promised you wouldn't cry," he says shortly.

And she suddenly realizes that she is. Dashing tears away with the sleeve of her kimono, she glares at him. "I can't help it," she answers defensively.

"It's okay." Those two simple words tell her all that she wants (and needs) to know – that Kakashi cannot move on either, and that's okay. She stands and watches, and he stands and watches, his hand still on her shoulder and his heart still buried deep underground, where no one can see, wherever they have buried Obito.

* * *

The rest of the evening seems like something out of a dream, and they both know it. Everything goes smoothly, which is something in itself. There is more dancing and music, good food, and a cake that is all the sweeter because of what it stands for. A small smile crosses across Yondaime's face as he sees his two students drifting across the grass hand in hand. It is good that they are dancing together, but truly, there should be three of them. But Rin-chan is smiling, and that's all that counts, and so he shoves the thought from his mind. 

Towards the end of the evening, she catches sight of her husband leaning over towards Sarutobi, the better to hear the older man's whispered words. She is curious about what they are saying, but knows that if it is her business, he'll tell her, eventually.

And what Sarutobi says is simple and succinct. "I gave you my warning earlier," he murmurs into Yondaime's ear. "And that warning still stands. But there's something more here. You love each other, that much is sickeningly plain to see." And there is a smile in the old man's voice. "So keep going, for us and for her. Make it a promise."

Yondaime reaches out and hooks Sarutobi's pinky finger with his own, the way children would seal a promise. "I promise," he says to the man who has been like a father to him, and he says those words, Sarutobi gets the feeling that this can only last for so long.

* * *

When the evening is finally over, almost everybody has finally drifted home. The diplomats are squirreled away for the night, and Konoha's people have gone home, satisfied and happy. The pair still sits outside, leaning into each other as they look up at the stars. People move about them, picking up chairs and garbage from the reception, but they are easily ignored. 

They don't say anything to each other. They simply stare, watching as the sun sets and each tiny pinprick of light becomes brighter by contrast. The moon is a pale yellow disc, full above them. And the whole picture is just so perfect. The two newlyweds, side by side on a picture-perfect bench, so totally wrapped up in each other, everything else just seems to be less exciting, less vibrant, as if the color has been leeched out of it and transferred into them.

Too bad that it can't last.


	5. Everything You Ever Hoped For

_Oubliette_

**Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, nor any of the characters. I simply write about them for fun, and to exercise…possibilities.**

**Short wait this time. I guess I was...motivated? That and bored. A short chapter, I think - fluffy and bittersweet. A sort of "holding pattern" while I figure out exactly where I'm going with this.**

_Chapter 5_

_Everything You Hoped For_

Princesses always move into their prince's castle and life goes on as usual. They have a few wonderful children, and the kingdom adores them, and everything is perfect. The princess still looks picture-perfect – the beautiful image of a flawless woman. And the prince, as always, is strong, proud and handsome, a man who still breaks hearts, although his is taken.

And, of course, they have their flaws here. Our princess only wears skirts every so often, and usually has dirt and grime embedded under her ragged, broken fingernails, and our prince often comes home injured and bloody. And they may not be perfect, but they're close enough.

* * *

Pale green sheets are rumpled around them, cool against bare skin. She breathes softly, quietly, her side moving up and down gently. His callused, rough hand rests on her stomach, just above her hip, moving with each breath. Blue eyes are half-open in the dark, simply watching. He shifts back, running a finger up and down her spine until she shivers at his touch, and rolls over to face him, a sleepy smile on her face. Her slender hand reaches out to cup his cheek, her fingers playing with the long blonde hair that hangs down in tendrils around his face. Only half-awake, she smiles back, and then her eyes flutter shut, and she is asleep again, still touching his cheek. He moves in closer in the darkened room, and sleeps as well, side-by-side, eye to eye, and breathing each others breath as if it is all that could bring them life – and perhaps, it is.

And he has dreams sometimes, now. More and more often. Dreams where silly one-eyed genin with a half-skeleton faces, eyes dangling from crushed sockets, and flayed and bloody skin, a macabre effigy of a boy he used to know. Every so often, other genin join in their morbid games, a petite kunoichi with light brown hair that swishes around her as she twirls and twirls, dancing alone, and off into blackness. And as he watches her disappear, another appears, a face, masked in back, forming out of the shadow, and the new boy winks, and as his good eye closes, the other eye begins to spin and spin and spin, spiraling into black and red and black again.

But whenever he wakes, she is always there for him – her arms wrap around him, and she softly sings him a lullaby that is all the more beautiful because it comes from her lips, and slowly, so slowly, the dreams wash away. And when he wakes, the tears are gone from his eyes, and he has time for one quick kiss, and he's off, hurrying to his offices. But he always has time to say goodbye.

* * *

She still works, spending her days in her little flower shop, making arrangements and bouquets. Her customers say that she seems more open now, a little brighter. They coo and fuss over her plain simple ring, and wish her congratulations, some with a decidedly suggestive wink.

But she's happy here, arranging roses and daisies in perfect arrangements, writing down the meanings of each flower that she puts in the array of flowers. Red carnations, forget-me-not, and gloxinia – my heart aches for you, true love, and love at first sight. Orange blossoms, peonies and magnolias – eternal love, happy life, and nobility. Arrangement after arrangement, vase after vase. The notepad near her hand fills up with day after day of penciled notes on each one.

And one day, she finds herself with monkshood in her hand, the roots embedded in dirt and resting in her palm, while the leafy green stem rises up to the delicate purple flowers at the top. So beautiful, and yet she hates what they mean to her – caution, and a warning. And a chill runs up her spine.

The plant never gets used in any of her arrangements, and it finally withers away and dies. She almost cannot bring herself to touch it, and she's being silly, she knows. But superstition is a powerful thing.

* * *

Every day is a busy one, for both of them. Hokage is a high-stress, high-activity occupation, but she knew that going in. She just didn't think that it would be so evident. There are murmurs of monsters and hidden machinations going on behind the scenes. Dark stories about enemies of Konoha, and threats to their peace. But she doesn't ask during the time they have together – then, it's just not important.

But the days get long when there is no one to spend them with – suddenly, the days that the shop is closed seem empty, and she is bored and lonely – there is nothing to do. One morning, she goes to the shop before the sun has even risen – he doesn't notice that she leaves, as he has not come home. Another night at the offices again, dealing with crises and all the problems of a village. She walks quietly through the streets, and finally stands in front of her dark, closed-up shop. Unlocking the door, she goes inside and selects a single red carnation from their bin full of water. Closing up behind her, she heads straight for the offices.

He is there, as she thought he would be. Slumped forward over his desk, he is drooling on a stack of papers that he was supposed to sign, his hand limp around his pen. A cold, half-empty cup of coffee is at his other side. She moves silently in, careful not to wake him, as he sleeps like one exhausted (and he probably is). Laying the carnation on his desk, she smiles wanly, bends forward, and kisses him lightly on top of the head, and all that glorious, tousled blonde hair.

When he wakes up, she is gone and a flower rests on the desk in front of him. A note is tied to the stem, and he reads it curiously. "I miss you," is all that it says. And those three simple words almost completely break his heart.

* * *

She sits at home that day, curled up in her favorite chair with a mug of tea. The TV flickers in front of her, but she does not see it – she is thinking. And she realizes – finally - that although she is the love of his life, she knows that she is not the first. Konoha is, and always will be his first love. But she knows that it is enough, and that they can make it. Because there are many types of love, she knows – first love, true love, love of your life, pure love. And she knows, somewhere, that he fits that category – the love of her life, her true love.

* * *

That week, while he is gone, she has the leaf symbol engraved on the inside of her wedding ring. She only has to gently rub her thumb over the grooved metal to remember what love and loyalty is all about. And respect and pride wells up in her chest – he loves his country, his people, his city just as he loves her – with all his heart, all his mind, all his strength.

And slowly, she comes to terms with it. She gets used to seeing him at strange hours of the day (or night), and gets used to bringing him small notes and lunches. Every so often, when he gets time, he will do the same for her.

The first time he leaves her a note, it is a simple box of chocolates, and a single, potted hyacinth. It's purple blossom waves back and forth as she approaches, drawing her attention to the little paper note. "I'm sorry. Please forgive me," the one side reads, with a little arrow. Flipping the tag, it says simply, "I love you." And she finds herself almost crying, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue as she sets the flowerpot right next to her cash register. But there is a smile underneath all those tears, and so there is an even stronger bond now, and she sleeps easier at night, even if he is not beside her, if only because there is a single purple flower on the ledge above her bed.

* * *

When they have time together, they have learned now that they have to take all they can. And when Yondaime asks, in his most endearing voice and most pleading, desperate manner, Sarutobi agrees to take over for a week so that they can go on the honeymoon that they never really had. He rolls his eyes, grumbles and groans, but he is an old man, so that is almost a given.

It is a marvelous week, now in the heart of spring, where their wedding had been just at the beginning. They don't even need to go anywhere – they simply hide away in her home where they simply moved all his things after their marriage. They take turns cooking, when they're not cuddling on the couch, or sleeping, wrapped around each other. It is a simple week, and he can almost feel the stress draining out of him, whether from not having his work affecting him, or from her gentle hands massaging every trace of tension out of muscles.

He wakes, the final morning of the week, with her slender body tucked up against his, and her cheek resting on his arm, pillowed on her long brown hair. He inhales her scent, one of flowers and the earth, one that he's noticed never goes away, no matter what. His blue eyes close, and he sighs – this should last forever. But it can't, and he knows that, and it makes his heart hurt.

She shifts in his arms, turning to face him and laying a kiss gently on the underside of his chin. "You're all whiskery," she mumbles sleepily, a smile on her face. Stubble had sprouted across his chin, as he hadn't shaved for a week – he'd been busy with other things, and he knew there was no need to keep up appearances.

"What do you think? Should I keep it?" he asked, teasing her.

"No. Makes you look old," she muttered, going back to sleep.

"Old?" He traced a finger across her abdomen lightly, and then up her chest.

"Old in a cute way," she amended, turning around to press her lips against his.

"That's good," he answered, muffled by their kiss. And then he decided that enough was enough, and he didn't say anything more.

* * *

It was depressing when he went back to work, although Sarutobi seemed amused, with a secret smile on his wrinkled and weathered old face.

"Is it all you though it would be?" the Sandaime asks, turning on his way out of the Hokage's office.

"Everything I could hope for."


	6. Don't Say Goodbye

_Oubliette_

**Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, nor any of the characters. I simply write about them for fun, and to exercise…possibilities.**

_Chapter 6_

_Don't Say Goodbye_

Stories never mention the trials and hardships of pregnancy – when the princess is pregnant, she simply glows, and everything goes marvelously. But this princess spends her mornings with her beloved holding her hair back as she vomits until she has nothing left, nursing the little life growing within.

Funny – they never write about this in fairy tales.

* * *

When she gets the flu, he urges her to go to the doctor right away. He spends his mornings, when he is home, softly rubbing her back and humming the song that she always sings (because they both know that _he_ can't). And so she vomits, and he hums, and together, they laugh because of how glamorous the married life is.

But she thinks she knows the truth, and so she goes to the doctor, a small smile flickering across her face. She scurries through the early morning Konoha streets, watching the sun rise as she makes her way to the hospital.

She finds that little med-nin that her husband knows so well, and asks her flat out, having used the walk to work up her nerve – "Am I pregnant?"

After a moment, Rin places a hand on the woman's stomach, and closes her eyes for a moment. A second heartbeat is already beating softly within, and she senses a whorl of chakra already beginning to form. And almost despite herself, she smiles. "Yes," she answers plainly. "He'll be just like his parents, I'm sure."

"He?"

"Oh! I'm sorry!" Rin apologized, giving her a quick bow. "I didn't mean to."

"No, it's fine," she assures the girl. On impulse, she pulls the med-nin into a quick hug. "Thank you." She walks away then, one of her hands on her stomach in that peculiar gesture that many pregnant women seem to share.

And Rin smiles, and watches her go – and still, she wonders when Konoha continued to move on without her…and without Obito.

* * *

When she gets home, her husband is waiting for her, sprawled on the couch and reading a book, although he hasn't finished a single page. He is immediately at the door, helping her in the door and to a chair. "You should have let me go with you," he chides her, frowning. He goes to the kitchen and brings back a cup of tea for her. "Are you alright?" he asks as she wraps her fingers around the warm mug.

"I'll be fine," she murmurs as she takes a sip of the steaming liquid, a secret, private smile on her lips. "Just a little cold."

He just nods, although he knows she is lying to him, and steps past. "See you later. I love you," he says softly. And he kisses her lightly and is out the door.

* * *

When they finally get a little more time together, she is ready to tell him, and he is more than ready to listen. They are snuggled up next to each other, simply sitting beside each other in the quiet. She is almost half-asleep when he rouses himself enough to sit forward and brush his lips across her forehead, pulling her hair back from her face with the hand that is not wrapped up in hers. "Is there something you were going to tell me?" he asks quietly, pulling her closer to him.

"Yes, there was," she answers, matter-of-factly, a small grin on her face. "We…" Trailing off, she reaches up to tug on a tendril of the blonde hair that always hangs down around his face. "We are going to have a baby," she finally states, the smile broadening

"Are you… Are you _serious_?" he stammers, working at simply getting his mouth to work. An electric tingle is running through his body, and he wants to sing, dance, pick her up in his arms and spin around the room. But he stops himself, and instead just pulls her in and whispers, "I love you. And our baby is going to be perfect."

"I know."

She moves their interlaced fingers down to rest lightly on her belly. Soon, movement will begin – a heartbeat, a shift in weight, a kick, as the baby gets comfortable. And as the baby grows, so does their excitement as the idea of being a mother or a father swells in their minds, only a few tantalizing months out of reach.

They fall asleep that evening on the couch together, hands still resting lightly on her stomach, waiting for the tiniest signs of life.

* * *

The anticipation is not nearly as fun for her as it is for him. It has its moments, in between her bouts of vomiting, swollen ankles, cramps and other various complaints. Every day, she wakes up with the feeling that there are two hearts within her, though one is barely the size of a pea. She eats for two, she breathes for two, she _lives _for two. She sits in the backroom of her little flower shop still, her feet propped up on a shelf underneath her counter in a mostly futile attempt to alleviate her swollen ankles, right next to the basin she has for her bouts of morning sickness, which unfortunately seems to last all day in reality.

She sits and makes her flower arrangements, and she gets so wrapped up in her work, she can all but forget about it, until she feels the baby kick and tumble around inside her womb. And then smiles, that peculiar little smile that is common to many pregnant women, and goes about her work, one hand pressed against her growing belly.

* * *

She used to love it when he said goodbye to her. He would always kiss her hand gently, and then just as gently, meet her lips with his. "Goodbye. I love you," he would murmur. Until she finally, she has to tell him to stop. She moves her face away from his, forestalling the second half of their tradition.

He looks at her quizzically, blonde eyebrows knit together in confusion, and he looks just so _endearing_, that she can't help but smile. "It's okay," she assures him, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing him in closer, so they can speak to each other from only centimeters away, where words are barely even needed. "I just don't want you to say goodbye."

"I _have_ to go," he answers. They'd already been over this – she _knew_ that he had his duties.

"I know," she murmurs softly. "Just don't say goodbye – it's too final."

And he smiles, and his whole countenance lightens, and she knows that he understands. "Okay then," he says, and lightly, kisses her, his blue eyes dancing with an inner light and life that she knows that it is absolutely hopeless to resist. "I'll see you later."

But still, he always walks out the door, his stride long, proud, and confident, his white jacket streaming out behind him with its flickering red flames, crisp and clean, like strong wings beating at the wind, bearing him away from her. Somewhere deep inside, it hurts her heart. But another place wants their son to grow up to be exactly like him.

* * *

He has almost gotten to the point where he cannot sleep without her. On missions, he lies awake, staring up at the sky, watching clouds scud around, or the stars gently wink at him. He volunteers for watch often, and the others let him have it, knowing that he won't be sleeping anyways.

But he can't help it – he worries about her. There's only a small amount of time now, and he can't stand the thought of not being there when their son finally enters the world – not only because he would miss that priceless event, but because he wouldn't be there to help her through it, to be her support, to hold her hand. And so he comes to relish the nights where he can simply lie beside her as she sleeps, breathing in her delicate scent. His blonde head rests on the pillow next to hers, and his body is sprawled across almost the entire bed, as he normally sleeps, but here, and only here, it seems, is where he can finally be comfortable. He twines his fingers gently into her long, brown hair, and finally, _finally_ falls asleep.


End file.
